Page 28 of I'm Sorry

The night is silent the longer we drive, taking turns to places I’ve never been before. Briefly, I think I should text Benny and let him know, but he would certainly freak out. He’d go postal and give me a lecture. Not interested.

When we take a left that puts us at the bottom of another mountain and traverse it, I turn my location on, just in case.

A warehouse appears in the distance and the line of cars pours in, one by one backing into parking spots that surround the building. My turn comes and thankfully, I’m the next-to-last spot near where we pulled in, so it doesn’t take me long to back in and check my surroundings for all the exits in case I need them. Some drivers linger in their cars with them running while others get out and mingle. I’m not sure where we are at or why. Hell, I’m not sure why the cops didn’t just follow us. Surely this place is on their radar.

Then again, we are well into Hellion territory, so they were probably just trying to get us off the mountain and not looking to pursue anything.

A tall guy steps out of the white Nissan 240SX to my left, the one that followed me here. He’s broad, with thick corded arms, covered in tattoos. Hair that rivals the darkness of night and hangs to the edges of his tense jaw accompanies his surly look and all black attire. He’s the one who encouraged me earlier to clean up my lines and bring the tandem in closer.

I give him a nod as a petite blonde steps out of the passenger side of his car. She’s been filming it all. Proof that I’m here. Nonchalantly taking enough information to find out exactly who I am.

“I got some damn good footage of you, newcomer.” She winks and adjusts her top, pulling it down a hair to allow her cleavage a little air. My eyes scan her tiny, voluptuous body. Nothing better in the world than machines that go fast and beautiful women. Her smile is sexy, suggestive, and I’m sure deceiving. Everything good, yet nothing worthwhile, would come out of a night with her. I do my best to ignore what it is she’s offering and focus on the surrounding men.

The driver rounds the front of his Nissan, his dark eyes assessing me. He doesn’t seem pissed or anything, but he’s not exactly looking friendly either. The door to the Chaser on my other side shuts and jingling keys are tossed into the older man’s pocket. He walks away without a single look in my direction.Alright then.

“Where the hell did you come from?” The Nissan driver grabs my attention, now standing only a few feet from me. I expect him to put his arm around the blonde, kiss her cheek or something, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look at her. His focus starts with me, then moves to my car. That’s what I love about the car community. We always have something to talk about when there are stunning machines around us. “That was some decent driving.”

His voice is husky, a little rough, but not as deep as mine. He shoves one hand in his pocket, the other through his hair to keep it back out of his face. He’s standing over the hood of my car. I lean in and pull the latch. After fishing for the clip, he lifts the hood. I let him take his time looking at my car.

“Decent,” I grunt the one-word answer. Without a word about what’s under the hood of my car, he leaves it open and makes his way over to me. Some others join us to meander around the front of my 328i.

I take his offered hand and shake it. “Spencer Owens.”

Well, this is the moment. He might recognize me or he might not. I always hate telling people my name because it’s linked to my dad. Around here, the lineage that follows that name might not be welcome. But I’m also not about to hide who I am when I’ve clearly stepped into a Hellion’s den. The atmosphere doesn’t feel hostile, more like a typical car meet, but you never know.

“Trace Johnson.” His eyes, now more on the pale side the closer he is, start at my feet then move slowly up my body, almost as if he is slightly interested, before they settle on my face. He cocks his head to the side. I don’t think he recognizes me. If he does, he doesn’t intend to say anything.

“Johnson. It’s nice to meet you. Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

“Uh, well, the lines are from my career in Superbike. The drifting is completely self taught between actual drifting and a simulator.” Again, I’m not hiding shit from them. I can hold my own should they decide I’m too rich and don’t belong here.

“No shit,” he rasps. “Superbike. Impressive. Where do you come from?”

“The north side of Northgate.” That gives him pause, but he shakes it off, shoving both hands in his pockets.

“What brings you to this side of town?” I tense, but a sarcastic remark still sits on the tip of my tongue. Fuck it. We are drawing a bit of a crowd, everyone else having decided I’m worth the look. There are a few guys walking around my car and talking amongst themselves.

“To be fair, you guys did. I was just trying to do a couple of runs on the mountain.” It doesn’t get the laugh I’m expecting and I bristle.Tough crowd.But the blonde who has been on her phone this entire time lets out a giggle, which softens Spencer’s demeanor.Okay then.I owe her.

His chin dips toward his chest, where he crosses his thick arms. I don’t think he’s fully sold on the idea of me. “Alright. I’m assuming you’re aware of your surroundings.”

“Should I be worried?” With my question, I narrow my eyes on him. This kid is tough to get a read on. His gaze hardens, and I stand a little taller, folding my arms in as well. The air is a little too tense for my liking.

“I don’t know. Should you?” he questions and takes a step toward me. A couple of guys with some size on them catch the conversation and move in around him. I’m not interested in starting anything, so I make eye contact with all of them, letting them know I’ve seen them.

Spencer somehow fills the silence without saying anything. The men flank him in a tighter formation, hands resting on pistols as a warning. What a fucking crew. Without a single word, Spencer has them under his command and they know what he means. I’m intrigued. A brotherhood like that has to mean something. They’re waiting on a razor’s edge for him to make the call, and I respect the hell out of all of them for that. Even with an entire race team behind me, unwavering loyalty is something I’ve never had. I want it.

“Make some rounds. Chat it up. There are a lot of machines around here that I’m sure you’ll take a liking to,” he tells me.

He gestures over his shoulder to a row of BMWs. In an instant, we’re back to calm mingling and some ringing laughter from somewhere across the lot. Not taking his eyes off me until he is nearly to the entrance of the building where the other guy disappeared to, Spencer backs up.Okay…weird.That stare is enough to make most people shrink beneath it. That guy is no joke… it’s a look I’m used to. A look that my best friend gets sometimes. The one that says not to fuck with them because they’ve seen some shit—done some shit—and the memories and distrust haunt them.

Noted.Not that I would fuck with any of these guys, but I’m definitely not going to cross Spencer if I can help it. I can’t help but hear Benny’s voice in the back of my mind telling me to get the hell out of here. I ignore it.

A few of the men that stood beside Spencer guide me through the lot—Koen, Kydd, and Bridger. Three brothers with interesting names. Kydd is a nickname, but apparently one that his dad used to call him instead of his real name, Wylder, so it’s now his legal name. Kydd is not talkative in the slightest…Sarcasm.He will give you his entire life’s story if you let him. He’s endearing, honestly. Maybe nineteen or so. Bridger is indeed the youngest brother’s real name. He’s the quietest.

“I’m Dyana. Dy for short.” The blonde, who’s been hanging around, says. “I’m sorry my brothers have talked your ears off. They have that effect on people, but they’re good guys.”

“No doubt. I like them.”Brothers. “How did you end up with a name like Dyana?” I ask and the corner of her red lips turns up.

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